


In the Care of Shadows

by thewhitestag



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU - Comicverse, Teen Titans (Comics)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-23
Updated: 2012-07-23
Packaged: 2017-11-10 13:06:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/466630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewhitestag/pseuds/thewhitestag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a brutal sort of kindness. Bruce and Conner have a little chat about Tim.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Care of Shadows

"Focus, Superboy. You need to wake up."

Conner blinks into consciousness and tries to follow the dark shape barking orders at him, but his vision stays blurred. Colors slide like dripping paint. Melting. He closes his eyes. Tries to remember how the hell he got here, but he can't get that straight either. Feels like his head is stuffed full of teddy-bear fluff.

"You're going to be okay," the voice says, and now Conner can recognize it. Beneath the rumble, there's something that sounds almost like worry. But that would be  _impossible_.

"Batman? Wha-"

"Talk later. For now, rest. But stay awake."

He squints his eyes open and this time manages to make out his surroundings. A bed, that much is obvious from the soft give beneath his body. And it's not some military-grade cot. This is the real deal. Luxury. Like, Egyptian cotton, tassels on the pillows, and all of that. The lights are off and blinds are drawn, but there's just enough sunlight to see that the rest of the room is just as cushy.

He catches sight of the photos on the night table. Recognizes some of the faces, but can't say why, until his mind cuts them out and slaps them onto a mission brief document.  _Oh_. That's right. The details come trickling back. Smugglers and slavers. Meta children stolen to work on plantations.

A breeze rattles the blinds, bringing in the scent of coconuts and burning gasoline. They're inside the enemy's hacienda.

"The operation is still in progress," Batman says, answering the question before it had even fully formed in Conner's head. "But we were forced to improvise. Their arsenal was more specialized than anticipated."

He remembers. A shock of green light. Bart and Cassie shouting. Tim's face—and then nothing.

"Kryptonite?" Conner slurs, his tongue thick in his mouth.

"A ray," Batman confirms.

"Rob-"

"Your team is capable of handling the task without us."

Conner can hear the sharp pops of machine-gun fire, somewhere from outside. He tries to tune his ears to the noise, but then the room starts doing the melty-thing again, and his head starts rocking back and forth without his permission.

"You're still dizzy," Batman remarks. He lets out a short grunt and pulls off his gauntlet. For a crazy moment, Conner thinks about honor and men in powdered wigs, and wonders if Batman is about to slap him with his glove and challenge him to a duel. But instead the man presses his bare hand to Conner's forehead. Rough. Conner can feel the scratch of calluses, the raised lines of scar tissue across his palm. Rough—but warm, too.

"Why are you—when I broke Tim's arm—"

"I recall the incident," the man replies dryly. "Don't try to use your super-hearing. You're still affected by the kryptonite. The stress could cause permanent damage to your semi-lunar canals."

Conner gulps. "Right. Um-"

"Here. Your fever's gone down, but you need to drink something."

And then there's a canister being pushed to his lips. He manages to take hold of it, even though his fingers feel tingly and twitchy. Sniffs the liquid inside, but all things considered, if a Bat wants to poison him, there is no way he'd have any chance of preventing it. So he drinks. It tastes like nothing, except maybe kind of metallic. Just water.

Batman stands at the door. Keeping watch? Strategizing? Probably both, on top of a million other things Conner wouldn't have even thought to account for. Conner sips slowly, holding the canister in both hands. Listens as the gunfire comes closer, then moves away again. Shouting. It's making him antsy, being so close to the action, and doing nothing but sitting here. He turns towards Batman and tries not to jump when the man is already looking back at him.

"Um. What I was trying to say earlier-"

"You want to know my feelings about you, in light of your relationship with my son."

Conner almost bites off the tip of his tongue in surprise. Because yeah, that's what he was after, but who'd expect  _Batman_ of all people to go the direct route.

"Wonder Woman—when I was with Cassie—she threw me across the Bay. But you..." Conner doesn't know how to finish that thought, because as far as he knows, Batman hasn't done anything at all in retaliation. And sure, the guy is probably the sneakiest sneak to ever sneak, but he's also big on the intimidation factor. If he wanted to scare Conner off, he wouldn't be wasting time with small stuff.

"Whatever opinion I have on the matter, and however strongly I might dissent...is irrelevant. I trust Red Robin's judgment. He believed in me when no one else did. And you believed in him. That means something."

The words dig into Conner. Sink into his skin and scratch their way to his chest. Maybe it's the exhaustion that makes him feel it so sharply, an extra target painted on his heart in kryptonite-green.

The rapid shots continue outside, and now there's shouting. The wind blows harder, swaying the blinds and making them clatter against the windowsill. Somewhere out there, his friends are fighting.

"But more than that," Batman adds, and then tightens his mouth like it pains him to speak. "You make him happy. And I need him to be happy." His gaze is intense and pressing, but not cruel.

The lines around his mouth, they're deeper than Conner remembers.

"I won't let you die again," Batman says. There's an apology somewhere in there. Mixed in with anger; twisted against it. Anger at himself for allowing a child to be killed. Sorry, even though Conner had made all his choices himself. And then a mutual guilt, because they've both made that mistake of leaving Tim behind, even if they hadn't meant to.

This promise of protection, there's nothing gentle about it. Nothing at all like Clark's reassurances, or even Nightwing's knowing smiles. But it is solid. It is unshakeable. And it makes Conner feel golden.

"Thanks for taking care of me," he squeaks. He doesn't know what else to say.


End file.
